Auror Progression
by C.K. Talons
Summary: A set of stories from Harry's three years of Auror training. These should be read with my current story, The Human Condition. Ratings will vary with each chapter, as will content.
1. Combat Class

***_Auror Progression_ is a set of cookies and snippets from Harry's three years of Auror training, which should be read with The Human Condition (storyid=1312532). Each cookie will vary in length and content, but I will rate them accordingly. These stories are consistent with characters and content of _The Human Condition_, which is also written by me. Like always, this story isn't to be taken as true, reproduced, passed off as your own, or sold. Some characters were created by J.K. Rowling, while many belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended.***  
1. Combat Class 

Rated: PG for violence and mild language  


"Harry, wake up!" Jonathan groaned as he shook Harry awake. "You'll be late for our first class!" But Harry didn't stir. Jonathan sighed, shook his head, then grabbed his book bag and left the room.

Harry pushed himself up a few inches and stretched his arms forward like a cat. He yawned tiredly, rolled over on his back, and opened his eyes.

It was the first day. It had been so long since his last first day of school; when he first started Hogwarts he was nervous and jittery, worried about being sorted and not knowing enough or anything for that matter, about the magical arts. How different life was now.

Harry eventually got himself up, replaced his new glasses on his face, and moseyed himself into the bathroom. There was an unusually large mirror directly in front of the doorway, and for some reason it startled Harry to see his reflection so abruptly. He knew it was silly, but he couldn't help but feel as if someone other than himself was staring through the mirror. He smiled as he approached it, opening his mouth to examine his teeth. He exhaled on its surface and wrote his initials in the mist. He chuckled to himself then wiped it away with the sleeve of his loose sweatshirt.

Harry had half expected a radical change in his physique over the summer, but nothing had really changed. He was much taller than he had been; just over six feet tall, but he was still too thin for his own liking. Ron and his brothers had each gained muscular weight and were keen to show it off to one another, comparing biceps and arm wrestling, but Harry couldn't boast about anything. At least he had muscle, that was something. 'Course, the only people who knew he had muscle was him; a passerby couldn't guess it unless he or she had seen what was under his clothes, and he certainly wasn't going to show them. 

He had his hair trimmed a few days ago, though it wasn't obvious; it was still as untidy as usual. Harry pulled back his bangs to look at his clean, bare forehead; a strangely pleasant site.

He had to examine it each morning for some reason, as if checking that Voldemort's scar was still gone. Its absence was the only sure sign that Voldemort was dead and gone once and for all. He, Harry, hadn't even noticed that it had vanished; it was Hermione who pointed it out to him. At first he wasn't sure how he felt about it, not being there that is. After all, it had been a part of him for as long as he could remember. But as the days went by and Voldemort was, well, quite dead, it suddenly hit Harry that life before the scar had to have been better, so why shouldn't it be the same for after?

But he had to cut his reminiscing short; today was the first day. He dressed comfortably, per instruction on the form; a loose t-shirt and black exercise pants. Then he swung his book bag on his back and made his way for Beowulf Arena for his first class.

The Arena was situated at the far end of campus and as Harry noted the time he realized that making the journey by foot would cause tardiness. So, being all legal now, he Disapparated.

The Beowulf Arena was an immense building which roughly resembled a very large stone box. At first Harry was disappointed by its outward appearance; it was so boring and plain. But when he took a step inside, his feeling of dissatisfaction ebbed away.

A white stone archway with the message _pax in bello_ carved into it led to a huge room with a tall ceiling, where several classes were congregated. Most of the floor, save some walkways, were padded. There were championship flags all along the walls signifying which residential house or year had won competitions in the past. To put it simply, the Arena was like a modern day school gym but on steroids. 

He ambled over to the youngest bunch of students who he assumed were first years like him. There were about fifteen of them, including his roommate, Jonathan, all huddled together but not talking with each other. Harry set down his bag and walked over to join them.

"Is this hand to hand combat?" he asked the crowd. Some of them turned to him and nodded. "Okay," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. About a third of the group were girls, none of them physically attractive, he noted quickly. "Is this the entire class?" he asked.

A few of them raised their shoulders at him, but didn't verbally answer. Harry noticed that a few of his classmates, the males, were dressed in order to flaunt their muscular prowess. There was a tall man with very short hair, like a military cut, standing a few feet from Harry. He wore a very tight black tank top and running shorts. His entire body was rippling with muscle. Harry shook his head and looked away.

"Good morning first year Aurors in training," a bald wizard said. He had kind eyes, a deep, rough voice, and a whistle around his neck. "I'm Professor Wes, but you can just call me coach," he said. He pulled a clipboard to his attention and started to call attendance. They very burly student went by the last name of Everett. Harry only took notice because he yelled out "Here," so loudly that the other classes in the Arena all looked at him peculiarly.

"Potter," Wes called automatically.

"Yeah," Harry said with a slight inclination of his head when Wes looked up at him. His eyes lingered on Harry longer than any other student, but he didn't make a great fuss about it. Once everyone was accounted for, the professor began his routine diatribe while passing out the class syllabus.

"Now, many students ask why we learn so many physical defense techniques, right? I mean we're Aurors, we're supposed to learn magic. Well that's a good point but it has happened once or twice that Aurors are either up against Muggles, in which case using magic against them or in front of them is a crime, or your enemy might render you defenseless. Now instead of just standing there like an idiot while the dark wizard has your wand or the Muggle attacks you, you can do something about it. Not only that, but we want you all in fit condition because this job demands it. You will never lay eyes on an Auror who's little more than a fat tub of lard."

Harry laughed as he thought of Dudley.

"The purpose of this class is to give you a basic understanding of hand to hand combat. Next year you will learn Judo and or Jujitsu, the Japanese martial arts." 

Several of the students smiled and nodded their heads in enthusiasm. Harry smiled but bit his lip.

"Now I'm the head coach, okay, but your instructor will teach you the motions. Let me introduce him to you," he said, signaling with his hand to a man in his middle thirties with dark curly hair, a square jaw, and uneven eyes. He looked to Harry like the stereotypical bad guy, complete with a sinister edge. He did not smile to the class.

Harry heard Everett mumble exactly what Harry was thinking. "Someone takes their job too seriously." Of course the instructor heard it and took issue.

"Something you would like to share with me?" he asked in a eerily silent voice in the spirit of Snape.

"No sir," Everett replied.

"Very well," he returned. Wes continued as if there were no interruption. He introduced the instructor as James Steel, with the nickname of 'Major Steel' because supposedly he was the best and strongest man in the world, by the sound of it. Harry thought the nickname was very primary school and stupid. He was also surprised that Steel was even an Auror, for he didn't give off waves of intelligence or great skill.

When Coach Wes finished his speech and had thoroughly covered the class aims, he turned and left the group with the instructor, who crossed his arms and surveyed the class over his nose.

"Well," he drawled superiorly, "I don't mind saying that this is the most pathetic group I have had the displeasure of teaching. But by the time I am finished with you..."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"You," Steel said to him, pointing him out of the crowd. "Is there some sort of problem?" he asked. The entire class turned to see Harry.

"Not a great one, no," he answered with a slight smirk.

"But there is a problem?" Steel said, one of his uneven eyes bulged slightly. "Please, share with the class your opinion."

Harry folded his hands behind his back and took a step forward. "I just think that statement is overused and terribly lame," he said simply.

Everett, who was now standing next to Harry, turned his laugh into a hacking cough. Apparently that was a mistake because now Steel focused on him.

"And you, did you think that was amusing?"

"No sir," Everett replied.

Steel paced toward him and beckoned him forward with his finger. Everett glanced around at his other classmates then stepped out of the group somewhat nervously.

Then Steel threw a punch at Everett, causing him to sway. The entire class gasped.

"Fight back," Steel commanded Everett. "Don't be afraid to hurt me," he said with an evil smile.

Everett regained composure and swung his fist at Steel, but missed. Steel ducked then struck his opponent in the stomach, then his jaw. Everett staggered backward a little, but kept after Steel.

Now the once silent class was cheering their classmate on. But it didn't help him much. In ten seconds Everett was on the ground, breathing heavily and Steel was looking very satisfied.

"Get up and don't interrupt me again," he spoke silently. Everett rubbed his jaw and fell back with the rest of the class.

"I do not appreciate interruptions, unnecessary laughter, or cheek in this class," he said to the group. "In this class I am the leader, is that clear? I am the dictator and I will tell you what to do."

"Isn't that what a dictator does?" Harry asked. Steel wheeled around and beckoned Harry forward. He sighed and did as requested.

"What is your problem?" he asked.

Harry made his lips thin. "Can't you come up with something original to say? I think the term you just used is begging the question. A dictator dictates orders, so saying you're a dictator then telling us you'll order us around is incredibly redundant." Harry heard the rest of the class take in breath.

Steel narrowed his eyes at Harry and rubbed his chin. "What's your name?" he asked.

"First, last, middle, or mother's maiden?" Harry said.

Everett laughed again, but this time Steel took no notice. He frowned at Harry and stared into his eyes.

"You need a lesson in manners, young man," Steel said calmly, but loud enough for the rest to hear. "Do not cross my path or I will make your life hell."

Harry raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the left. "You have that kind of power? Wow, and I just thought you were an instructor." Harry smiled at him.

"Your last name please," Steel said evenly.

"Potter," Harry replied. "Yes," he continued as Steel opened his mouth, "that one."

"Impressive," Steel said cooly with half a smile.

"What is? The name or that I guessed your next question?" Harry asked.

"I'm going to make you a deal. If you can beat me in my own game then I will pass you and you can spend this hour however you wish. But if I win, you will not only start off every morning with a three mile run, refer to me as sir, and prepare and fetch my coffee, but you will also clean this building with a toothbrush once a month for the rest of the year."

Harry gave him a look of mild curiosity. "Is that so?"

"I suggest you just keep your mouth shut and learn, but if you wish to make a mockery of yourself, then be my guest. Wand waving is one thing, Potter, combat is another."

Harry laughed. "There you go with the obvious again. All right, I'll fight you. Care to set any rules?"

Steel grinned, his eyes crinkled. "No rules. Perhaps you should let one of the women hold your glasses. I'd hate to break them."

No one laughed at his joke. Harry stepped away from the group and walked around Steel.

"Now, class," Steel said as he stretched his arms and watched Harry, "the first thing you need to learn is to control your emotions. Anger will only cause you a slip which could bring you loss. Secondly the correct form. Hit straight across--" he said with a hard punch to the side of Harry's face. "Put all your energy into it," he remarked in stride as Harry turned his head back. "You want to have your feet squared so don't lose your balance."

Harry kept his calm but didn't let Steel hit him so easily the next time he tried. Harry ducked when Steel tried for him.

"Fast learner," he said to Harry. Harry didn't respond. "I didn't hurt you, did I? It was only a small hit," he said lightly.

Harry walked toward him, raised his clenched fists, and went for his opponent, but Steel beat him to it by kneeing Harry in the gut and casting him to the padded ground. The class heaved with Harry.

"Go for their weaknesses," Steel told them. Then he bent down to grab Harry by the shoulders. When his fingers were clenched on him, he said, "And Potter, I like de-caf with two sugar cubes, bright and early."

But Harry was through with games. While still on his back, he thrust his foot in Steel's chest, knocking him back several feet. Harry got himself up and continued the attack.

"De-caf, eh?" Harry said as he decked Steel so hard, his nose cracked and began to bleed. "Can't take the strong stuff?" Harry jumped in the air and kicked Steel once with his left, then his right as he came back down to earth. Now his lip and nose were bleeding heavily. "Personally," Harry said, striking the stomach, "I like sleeping in on my Mondays. Get your own damn coffee."

Steel made a growling sound and tried ramming Harry, but he simply stepped to one side and let Steel pass him by. 

"We're not getting angry, are we?" Harry said. "Because we might lose if we let our anger take over."

Then things got really nasty. Steel came after Harry with all he had and made contact several times, leaving a nasty cut just above Harry's eye, and a possible bruise on his chest. But of the two, Steel was looking far worse. It even got to a point that the other classes in the Arena stopped what they were doing and formed a circle around Harry and Steel. Everett then started an immature chant for Harry, which caught on like wildfire.

Perhaps it was because Steel couldn't handle the repetitive "Potter" that everyone was yelling, or that Harry found his weakness, but Steel finally fell to the ground after three fast kicks in the gut.

The large crowd fell silent. Heaving and wiping blood from his eye, Harry moved toward the conquered instructor. 

He looked up at Harry, his face quite swollen, from the flat of his back. Harry stepped close to him and looked down on his victim and spoke to him softly.

"Your weakness is arrogance," he said. Harry reached down his hand to pull the instructor up, but Steel didn't allow it. "The most dangerous thing anyone can do," Harry continued cooly, fully aware that everyone was hanging on his words, "is to underestimate me. Do you understand that? A much more powerful wizard than you died because of it."

He stood up straight, looked around the group, then walked toward the exit. Five students moved out of his way and made a path. He picked up his book bag, slung it over his shoulder, and left Beowulf Arena leaving whispers of praise and suspicion behind him.


	2. Piper

2. Piper

Rated PG-13 for brief sexual references (characters are young men) and violence.  
  


By Tuesday Harry had been completely submerged in homework that would cause Hermione a stroke. While he had passed Combat Class and eliminated it from his schedule, he wished he had challenged and passed an academic class instead. First years were expected, it seemed, to preform like endurance sled dogs, only on several levels. When the metaphor came to Harry during an Advanced Potions lecture, he very much wished that the only thing he had to do was pull a sled through snow; it was easy.

Then it got worse. As he made his way back to Ursus House, his residential dorm, the scary knowledge that he had only had four of his classes in his first two days, struck him. Defensive Spells every Monday, Advanced Potions, Basic Shape Shifting, and Advanced Charms on Tuesday. Wednesday and Thursday were still looming in the air.

Harry turned the nob to his room and walked in. His dropped his bag from his shoulder to his desk with an almighty _thud_. At least he didn't have to turn in the homework until the next class meeting.

He sighed and moved for his bed, which he fell onto face first. Then his mind began to talk to itself. Though he wished it would just shut up and relax, he couldn't stop it. _You had to be an Auror, didn't you?_ he thought. _You couldn't live a life of leisure, bumming off the inheritance you got from the parents and the remains of the Black family fortune, could you? No. You had to go out, work like an ox, get accepted to this place, and then work even more. Good idea, Harry. Next time you get a good idea, put it in a memo and make more money._

_Could have played Quidditch. You could have played for whatever team you wanted, you know. Your job could have been a game. 'Yes, I'm Harry Potter, Seeker for the best damn team in the world.' Plenty of beautiful women to fawn over you, no more saving the ignorant world, and no Advanced Potions._

But Harry remembered why he didn't approach any Quidditch scouts. While he loved the sport very much, he didn't like fame. Harry inched his hands under his chin and sighed. Some people worked all of their lives to achieve fame and fortune. Most people, Harry reckoned, wouldn't mind a bit of fame. People generally liked attention, didn't they? But the attention he got wasn't desired. It had been many years since the last time he got only a taste of the kind of attention he really wanted.

The dorm door opened again, he heard, and another heavy book bag fell to the floor. Harry assumed his roommate had entered. He didn't turn around to say hello. Jonathan shuffled over to his bed and sat down. Harry heard the creaking of the mattress. 

"Are you awake?" he asked Harry in a loud whisper.

"No," Harry replied to his pillow. "Talking in my sleep is one of my many super powers."

Jonathan sniffed loudly. "Can you believe we've only had five classes? Damn."

Harry rolled over on his side so he could face Jonathan. "I think I hate institutions of higher education," he said.

Jonathan smiled. "I think I do too."

Harry smiled tiredly. Jonathan was okay by his standards. He would never equal Ron, but he wasn't a bad person. He looked kinda funny, though. Well, maybe funny wasn't the right word, but looking at him made Harry feel funny. Jonathan was shorter than he was, had brownish reddish hair, dark beady eyes, and funny shoes; flip flops. All together his face reminded Harry, for some very strange reason, of Winnie the Pooh. Harry laughed at his own thought.

But Jonathan was too tired to have noticed. Now he was lying flat on his back staring at the ceiling. "I need a drink," he said abruptly. 

"There's a sink in the lavatory, or the toilet if you can take a dare," Harry said.

Jonathan smiled a little. "No, I mean an alcoholic beverage. Do you drink at all?" he asked Harry.

Harry shook his head, but since Jonathan wasn't looking he said no. Alcohol didn't have much of an appeal to Harry. His uncle drank occasionally, sometimes too much, and it never turned out good. He yelled even more than usual when he had had one too many, even Dudley would get uncomfortable. Harry remembered many a retreat when Vernon would pour himself another glass. He never wanted to be around.

"It takes the edge off," Jonathan said. "Loosens you up."

"Yes," Harry replied pensively, "I know."

Jonathan sat up. "There's a pub across the street, I heard some girls saying."

Now Harry sat up. "Girls?" he said, his eyes raised. "What kind are we talking about?" Harry asked with a rueful smile.

Jonathan tried not to grin but failed. "The female kind." He stood up and walked toward Harry's bed. "You ever been laid?" he asked.

Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to tell the truth with Jonathan. He hadn't known him very long.

"I just turned eighteen," Harry said.

"Yeah but I figured you would have by now. I mean girls should be jumping at you, shouldn't they?" he asked. "Women love heros."

"Well," Harry said with a smile, "I hate to disappoint, but no. You?" he asked.

"Of course not," he said with a dismissive gesture. "But I'm hopeful. C'mon, let's have a drink later tonight and see if we can get lucky. I won't be one of those peer pressure guys who makes you drink, I promise."

Harry was about to give an answer when there was a brief knock and entrance of Rourke Everett, one of Harry's classmates.

"What's up?" he said with a huge grin. He walked over to Harry and slapped his hand in a high five, then did the same to Jonathan. Rourke Everett, Harry imagined, was one of those guys all the women wanted very badly. He had the distinct aura of the once young and handsome Sirius Black. He was just as tall as Harry, more visibly muscled, had a well chiseled face, dark eyes, and a deep voice. Harry got over his twinge of incredible jealousy and mounting dislike when Everett had congratulated him for "kicking the effing snot out of James Steel."

"I'm trying to get Harry to come with us to the pub down the street," Jonathan said.

Rourke sat next to Harry and roughly grabbed him around the shoulders like a big brother. "Thrasher, buddy, I've heard that the women there are begging for action. It's a waste of your heroics if you don't go."

"If you don't stop using that horrible nickname it'll spread," Harry said.

"It already has. Whatever your real middle name was, kiss it goodbye. From now on you are Harry Thrasher Potter, he-who-kicks-ass. The entire campus knows about it. Steel had such a swollen stick up his ass that he made the rest of our class run for the remainder of the period."

Harry pushed off the bed and shook his head, though he was smirking. "The nickname thing is lame. Children use nicknames."

Rourke struck his chest with his left hand and rose his right like he was giving an oath. "I have always embraced my inner-child. Besides, even if I tried erasing the name, everyone else will still know of you as Thrasher Potter. Just go with it." 

Harry still thought it was stupid, but he didn't bring it up again.

"So what do you say? Are you going?" Rourke asked.

"I'm not sure," Harry replied, glancing at his book bag. "I have tons of homework to do. Just thinking about it gives me a huge headache."

"So don't think about it right now. Eight o'clock sound good to you?" Rourke asked.

Harry sighed. "Sure," he replied. Rourke jumped up and grinned. 

"See you at eight, gentlemen," he said then left quite dramatically. Jonathan made a comment about going to the library to study then he departed.

Harry was left alone again. He walked over and collapsed in his desk chair then pulled out a parchment pad and a quill. He felt like writing a letter to someone. Hermione was the first person who came to mind, but what could he tell her? If he told her the truth...no, he couldn't do that.

_Harry!_ She would say, _You did what in your first class? When will you grow up? You really should be more careful, you know. Dumbledore isn't looking after you anymore so you shouldn't be acting out. Besides, misbehaving is never a good thing, Harry. And a pub? You went to a pub? Don't you have about eight classes a week? Shouldn't you be studying all the time?_

Harry shook his head. He wouldn't write to Hermione. Ron. He could write to Ron.

_Sounds like Auror training is fun. Wish I had gotten in. But I'm not smart enough to be an Auror. I'm still studying for that entrance exam, in my free time. Hermione says I have a good chance if I keep trying. In the mean time I'm helping Fred and George keep their books. It isn't as fun as one may think._

No, that wasn't a good idea either. Ron would get into one of his pity parties and feel depressed for days as he kept up with the growing popularity of Fred and George's business. So who could he write to? He couldn't see himself addressing a letter to Ginny or Neville. Fred and George, if they received a letter, might try marketing Harry's campus, which probably wouldn't be the best of ideas. 

Dumbledore. Yes, he could write to Dumbledore. After all, Harry had been his favorite during school, everyone said so. They had worked together to fight Voldemort; Dumbledore taught him almost everything.

Harry addressed the letter and chronicled, in great detail, his first two days of Auror Training. He wondered if he had said too much, but figured Dumbledore had much more free time now that Voldemort was dead and Harry was no longer in need of dueling assistance or getting into trouble.

He signed his name, sealed the letter in an envelope, then took it to Hedwig who was sound asleep. He prodded her rudely then tied the letter to her leg.

"Back to Hogwarts," he said, "for Dumbledore." She hopped on his arm so he could take her to the open window, which she soared out of the moment he reached it.

Harry sighed then sat down on his bed again. He tried denying it, but he was a bit anxious about this evening's coming events. A pub. The Three Broomsticks wasn't really a pub. It was kid friendly and rated G. He assumed that the pub he would be entering was more than what he had seen.

He opened his palm toward a book. Nothing happened. Harry sat up straight, focused on the book, then waited for it to fly into his hand. But it didn't. Harry scowled and tried again, but the third time wasn't the charm. Now slightly panicking, Harry stood up and walked to his book bag for the book and his wand.

"Accio quill," he said. Instantly the quill flew into his hand. "Huh," he mumbled to himself. He dropped his bag on the floor again, walked to his bed, and sat on it cross legged. "Okay," he said to himself, "don't panic. It's a glitch is all." He set down his wand. "I can do magic without a wand. I'm Harry Potter," he added to himself, as if it would help him. He took in a deep soothing breath, exhaled, then reached out his palm for a notebook on his desk.

It stayed on the desk.

"No," Harry said in frustration, "come to me."

Nothing.

"You stupid...thing," he groaned. "Come!"

No movement. Harry's shoulders dropped with his hand. He'd lost it. He'd lost his powers he had before Voldemort was killed. Those powers set him apart from every other ordinary wizard, but now they were gone. 

Harry jumped off his bed and out of his room. He had to do something, though what he didn't know.

"Thrasher!" he heard Rourke's deep voice. Harry whipped around. 

"Stop calling me that!" he yelled.

"Sure thing," Rourke said with a grin. "Where are you headed?" he asked.

Harry didn't feel much like chatting at the moment. "Out for a walk," he said. "Alone," he added ensuring he would be.

"I get that. My idea of a really good time is not walking with you," he said. "So I'll see you at eight?" he asked.

Harry nodded slightly then took his leave. He wasn't sure he should be going anywhere until he established what kind of power he still possessed. He tried thinking of the last time he had summoned something without a wand. It had been a while ago, that was certain. Maybe he just needed to keep practicing. Maybe he was rusty and needed some tuning up.

Harry left the residential hall and headed for the Inferno, the cafeteria to his left. It was always warm in the cafeteria, which is probably why 'Inferno' was its name. He collected a tray then picked up a steak, a baked potato, and water.

"Have you thought about your thesis at all?" Harry heard a young woman ask.

"No," a female Irish accent answered. Harry turned his head to get a better look at them. They were standing over the potato station, debating on mashed, baked, fried, or hashed. Harry could only see their hair and figures, which were both nice. Harry turned back to admire the salad selection so he could listen to them.

"It is a bit early to be thinking about it, I know. We have the whole year to come up with something, but I was wondering if you had." Harry glanced at them again. The woman who had been talking had extremely short brown hair and multiple peircings in her ears. Her friend, the Irish one, had curly red hair.

"I don't want to start thinking about it," the Irish one said. Harry smiled when he heard her talk; her accent was interesting.

They finally decided on baked potatoes then they left and started searching for a table. Harry followed at a distance then sat close to them, but kept his back turned. Fortunately he could see them in the reflection in the window.

"Have you thought about where you want to work?" the British one asked. Harry wished they would use their names in the conversation.

"The Ministry of Britain, Ireland, Canada, maybe New Zealand," said the Irish. "I just want to start somewhere. Hopefully Ireland will take me, if not then Britain is my second option. My mother and father might not be so happy with the idea, but it is my life after all. There's plenty of time to think it over," she said.

Harry could see what her face would look like if reflected in the water. He couldn't tell if she was attractive or not. He tried thinking of a reason to bump into their table, but his brain wasn't working; he couldn't stop thinking of how he couldn't perform like he was once able to do so well.

"The competition is so hard. I wish I could have some kind of edge," said the English.

"Yeah," Irish replied. "I heard Harry Potter was going here now. I imagine every Ministry will open their doors for him."

Harry's face flushed.

"He is going here. I heard a few of the first years talking about how he thrashed James Steel on the first day of class. He beat Steel and passed the class."

"Wow."

"He's cute too," the English student said. Harry blushed more but felt himself smile. He would have preferred if they had deemed him ruggedly handsome, but 'cute' was good enough.

"That's what I heard," said Irish. "Too bad he's a first year."

Harry frowned and felt his once puffed up chest deflate quickly. He wanted to whirl around and ask what was wrong with being a first year, but then he would blow his cover.

"Piper," the English one said, "can't have him because he's young?"

"Right. Robbing the cradle and all."

Piper, Harry thought to himself. That's an interesting name. She didn't like younger men, though. That was interesting. Harry finished his dinner quickly, much faster than the girls behind him, then decided he would get ready for the evening.

Jonathan was standing in front of the mirror when Harry came back into the room. He had on blue jeans, a long-sleeved but collarless shirt, and flip-flop beach shoes.

"How do I look?" he asked Harry in a semi-panicked manner.

"Is this where I say something nice to give you more confidence, or do you want the truth so you know if you'll humiliate yourself later?" he asked.

Jonathan held a funny smile. "The second one."

"You look a badly dressed Muggle surfer who's not sure where the beach is," he said calmly. He walked over to his closet and started to search through his limited wardrobe. "But that's just what I think. So this pub thingy, who goes there?" Harry pulled a clean black shirt off the hanger, then a pair of pants from his drawer.

"Students here, the public, mostly younger folks, in their twenties or so," Jonathan answered.

Harry tried once more that evening to summon something to him without his wand, but it failed again. He got dressed, waited for Jonathan to go through two more outfits, ("Hurry up already, you're like a girl!") then they walked across to the pub which was simply named, "Corner Pub," for lack of a better name.

Rourke Everett, looking and smelling like he spent all afternoon on his appearance, caught up with them just before they reached it.

"Don't you two look adorable!" he said, squeezing between the two of them and putting his arms around both shoulders. "We're gonna have a great time. Remember Social Darwinism, my friends. Survival of the fittest." 

Harry pushed Rourke's hand off his shoulder, then opened the door, which loud obnoxious music flooded out of. Harry entered first, Rourke followed, and Jonathan came in last. It certainly was different. There was a band playing in one corner of the pub. From what Harry could tell it was music of some kind, but he didn't know which. The singers were not singing but yelling and he couldn't understand one word of it. There were several round tables in the pub, a few raised booths, and a bar right in front. Harry turned to Rourke for instruction, but as he did someone tapped his shoulder.

"You're first years," a short yet burlesque black man said.

"And?" Harry asked with the shrug of his shoulders.

"You can't come in this pub until after your first year. It's traditional," he said. Harry sighed and was about ready to turn around when he saw Piper sitting with a few of her friends. She was talking animatedly, tossing her hair out of her face. Harry's stomach did a back flop.

"That's a stupid rule," Jonathan said as he and Rourke began to walk out.

"Why can't we stay?" Harry asked the man.

"Look, it's tradition. This is only for second year students and above. You can come in here next year. There's another place a few kilometers away."

Harry looked at Piper again, this time she saw him. She, as he suspected, was attractive. She had pinkish cheeks, small but full lips, and green eyes.

"We're here now," Harry told the man. "Tradition is wrong," he said loudly. A few other men came up to Harry and tried looking down on him. Jonathan and Rourke closed space between Harry.

"Tradition is what we're all about. Please get out," the man said.

Harry took a step closer to him and smiled. "No."

Another man, this one with small eyes and a huge nose, approached Harry with wand in hand. "Don't make trouble," he muttered.

Harry raised an eyebrow and pulled out his wand. "No trouble if you just let us in. Oh, and if you try using the wand, I'll win."

The man began to laugh but Harry and his two companions didn't.

"You think so, do you?" he asked.

"I know I will. Do yourself a favor and let us in so no one get's hurt. I promise I won't tell the other first years." Harry twirled the wand in his fingers and drummed his foot.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" the big nosed man asked.

"Just a guy looking for a good time. We won't bother you if you promise not to bother us, okay pal? Now please get out of my face," he said as he rose his wand into the attack position. The man stared into Harry's eyes as if trying to read his mind.

"Is there a problem here, gentlemen?" a bartender asked according to custom. 

Harry raised one corner of his mouth and kept eye contact with his opponent. "Nothing that concerns you," Harry said.

"Everything in here concerns me, I own it. Perhaps you didn't see the sign," he said, pointing to a large sign Harry hadn't noticed when he first entered. 

**_KEEP YOUR WANDS HOLSTERED; NO MAGIC IN THIS PUB_**

**_~MANAGEMENT~_**

Harry sighed and slipped his wand away then crossed his arms. "Why so harsh against magic?" Harry asked him.

"Muggles come in here, mate. Some o' my best business. They can't read the sign but they will see a duel. Take it outside if you have to." He gave each of them one more warning look, then walked back to his bar.

"Harry," Jonathan muttered, "let's just go."

"Listen to your friend," the man said. "He's smart."

"You're not afraid of me, are you?" Harry asked him with his smirk. Apparently they were causing a bit of a scene because other people, including, Harry was pleased to see, Piper, were paying close attention.

"Why should I be?" he asked, stepping forward.

"You wanna back off, buddy?" Rourke said in a lower voice than usual. "We are all on the same side."

"Come on," Harry said, backing up steadily, "have a go at me, just outside. Unless you _are_ afraid of a first year."

"I'm afraid I might squash you like a bug," he said. One of his buddy's slapped his hand and guffawed stupidly.

"Yeah that's so funny," Harry said evenly. "Squash me like a bug, then. I've got nothing to lose." Harry opened the door and stood in the door way, watching his opponent. He glanced sideways to his protege, then stepped outside. Rourke and Jonathan, far from being concerned, were now walking around the gathering, partially intoxicated crowd taking bets. Harry saw Piper's curly red hair and felt his stomach flop again.

For being at Auror training for two days, he was a bit surprised with how much physical combat he was engaged in. Shouldn't he be using more magic? Harry shook his head of this thought and focused on his opponent who was stretching and flexing his bulking arms, which seemed to be common to everyone except Harry.

Now Rourke stepped into the middle of them with his arms raised to the crowd. "Rules," he started, "no hitting in certain sensitive areas which may cause infertility." The crowd laughed. "Or kicking, elbowing, biting if you're gross, no touching in that area to be safe." He stepped out of their area and called off the commencement of the battle.

Normally Harry would allow one punch, to ensure confidence and false security in his opponent. But Harry hated the moron.

Luke, as was apparently his name according to the chants from the crowd, swung out at Harry, but he ducked and avoided it. Luke tried again--he missed. Harry avoided another attempt, then a kick, a right hook, a left hook, and a full body lunge. Luke appeared enraged.

"I thought you wanted to fight!" he yelled.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "I usually let the other guy strike first. I'm waiting for you to hit me. So do it already."

Luke lunged his giant fist at Harry, connected with his chest, then stepped back and waited for Harry to fight back.

"About time," Harry mumbled.

"Thrash him, Harry!" Rourke yelled.

Harry rubbed the spot Luke had hit. "Ow," he said.

"What should we write on your tombstone?" Luke asked, hitting Harry's face.

"Harry Potter should be fine," he said when he high kicked Luke in the face. But Luke didn't fall down and groan like Harry had expected. In fact, Luke smiled as if the hit had tickled.

"Only your name?" Luke asked, striking Harry hard in the stomach. Harry stumbled backwards clutching his gut. "No cute remark under it?"

Harry didn't understand. Shouldn't he be thrashing this guy, as Rourke would say? When Luke punched his nose and everywhere else, a horrid thought crossed Harry's mind. His strength had left him... his telekinetic abilities must have been tied into his super-strength and now they were both gone.

Rourke and Jonathan were screaming at Harry to get up and fight, but now Harry's left eye was severely swollen, his nose was bleeding, and by the uncomfortable looks on the crowd's face as they watched him, he must look much worse.

Harry summoned enough strength to pull himself up and hit Luke once more, but it was a futile effort. Harry was down on the ground with a final kick in the gut. He felt like he should say something, but he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't make him sound like a pathetic loser. Not only had he made a complete fool out of himself in front of countless people he would encounter the following morning, but Piper, the woman he had held this show for, was probably thinking that Harry was a giant pansy, unworthy of her attention.

Luke grabbed Harry by the back of his shirt. "Stay out of this pub," he growled, dropping Harry back on the ground. He heard the shuffling of feet back into the noisy pub. He didn't want to look to see Piper scowling at him, or Rourke and Jonathan who were probably near tears. At least the nickname would go away. Instead of "Thrasher" he would be "Thrashed." He groaned at the thought. Once the loud music was muffled by the door to the pub being shut, Harry braved his first view. Yep, Jonathan and Rourke looked ready to sob and Piper was no where to be found.

Harry groaned as the throbbing pain became more aware now that his attention wasn't focused on his embarrassment for having his butt whooped. He felt Jonathan and Rourke lift him up, but he pulled away from them once he was on his feet.

"Harry," Rourke said mournfully.

"Don't," he replied, not facing him. "Don't say anything." He walked back to his residential dorm with his head low, avoiding attention he hoped. He opened the door to his room, entered, and shut it behind him. He stood there for a moment, his head pounding with shame. Then he shuffled over to the bathroom to stare at himself in the mirror. His left eye was sealed shut and swollen, his lip was cut and puffed, the right side of his face was turning blue, and there was dried blood under his nose. His shirt was torn with blood stains.

Harry turned on the water and wet a hand towel, then whipped the blood off his face. He pulled his shirt over his head, wincing because he was so sore. He stepped inside the shower and turned on the water. Even the gentle flow caused him pain. He had been beaten. And not just by a technicality, or because he was under the weather, he had been beaten fair and square and by a long shot.

By the time Harry finished, Jonathan was still gone. Harry assumed that he would be out until late, talking with Rourke and countless others about the defeat. He couldn't sleep with that knowledge. He passed both hands through his hair as he tried to think. What had gone wrong?

He couldn't stand not knowing anymore. He threw on some clothes then Disapparated to Hogsmeade so he could walk to Hogwarts.

Walking through the entrance hall was like strolling back home. A sudden warmth washed over him when he glanced into the Great Hall, glittering with wonder. 

The stone gargoyle which guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office now recognized him, something Dumbledore had set up in Harry's sixth year. Soon Harry glimpsed the spiraling staircase; he hopped on and was taken up.

Harry heard murmurs and mumbles. Dumbledore must be talking to some of the portraits. Harry knocked on the door and the murmurs ceased.

"Come in," Dumbledore's kind voice sounded.

Harry eased inside, turning his back to Dumbledore as he shut the door.

"Harry," Dumbledore said with a grin. "What an unexpected surprise."

Harry slowly pivoted around, hoping that it was very dark. By the sudden mood change, however, Harry knew it wasn't dark enough to cover his face.

"What has happened to you?" he asked, walking forward to get a better glimpse. "Did you start a fight?" he asked.

Harry looked into his face now, frowning. "You're using Occlumency against me," he said.

Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. "No, Harry," he said sadly, "I didn't. It was your second day today. Yesterday you harmed one of your instructors and today this. Your name will only get you so far, Harry. You need to behave," he said firmly.

Harry threw up his arms in frustration. "I didn't come here for a lecture," he said.

"Why did you engage in the duel?" Dumbledore asked.

"Because..." he cast out his mind for a good reason other than 'I was trying to impress a girl.' "He cheeked me," he said flatly, thanking his cousin for those words.

"Ah," Dumbledore breathed. For some reason everything he said sounded so wise. "You were defending your honor. What, may I ask, did he call you?"

"Four eyes," he replied quickly.

"I see. You have tolerated Draco Malfoy and his friends, held up to criticism from me and others about your skills, and you defeated Lord Voldemort, but when a stranger calls you 'four eyes' you have to throw a punch?" he said, ending with a disbelieving smile.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You could just say you don't believe me."

"Yes, but I wanted to see how long you could keep up your lies. In order to be an Auror you must toe the line. You need to stop acting like a selfish young boy and act your age. You are responsible for your actions. I feel like we've had this conversation before, Harry. You must do as you are told and you must respect your instructors, whether you agree with their philosophy or not. Is that clear?" he asked with his eyebrows very high.

"Yes," Harry said, "now can we talk about something I need to talk about?"

"Please," Dumbledore said, showing Harry to a seat, which he took. Dumbledore placed himself in his large chair, folded his hands on his desk, and nodded to Harry.

"My powers are gone. My 'superpowers.' The ones that made me who I am. They're gone," he said. "Look," he added, holding out his hand as if preparing for a ketch. "Nothing. I want that book to come to me, but it's not. What's wrong with me? The only reason that git beat me was because my power was gone. I wouldn't enter a fight I knew I couldn't win. But yesterday I was fully functional. What's wrong with me?" he asked.

Dumbledore did not seem wholly concerned. Instead he nodded and said "hmmm."

"What does that mean, _hmmm_?" Harry asked.

"I'm not surprised. Those powers were on loan so you could complete your task. Now that you have they are gone," he said. 

"But they worked yesterday. And what do you mean about my task? Killing Voldemort? I did that months ago, why didn't they stop then?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "I'm not sure. Witches and wizards can only achieve wandless magic when they are frightened or angered, but you have always been a strange case. I assume that part of the protection you were given when you were small included those gifts you took advantage of. Now that you no longer need the protection, they have faded away. The source has been removed. Like I told you last year, Harry, all magic has a source. It appears as if yours has dried up."

Harry shook his head. "No. No, you said I had that power in such quantities that--"

"Yes, I know I said that. But time has passed and time has changed. If you expect results, then you must find a new source."

Harry had no idea what Dumbledore was on about. From experience he knew Dumbledore wouldn't come out and say it, but try to lead Harry to it. It was annoying. Harry started to leave when Dumbledore advised him to take a stop by the hospital wing. At first he said he didn't need to see Madam Pomfrey, but then he decided it would be better if he didn't stand out so much with his black and blue face.

Madam Pomfrey made a number of comments about Harry's obvious reckless behavior, which he neither argued nor defended. Once he was fixed and set to go, he walked back to Hogsmeade and Disapparated back to his dorm room. Jonathan still hadn't come back.

With a tremendous sigh followed by an equally significant yawn, Harry crashed on his bed and fell asleep.

He woke with a startle the next morning, after having a terrible dream. Ron had stolen his power and made Harry turn into a clown. He didn't care what anyone said; clowns were terrifying. He jumped out of bed and redressed then grabbed his schedule. Dueling basics, physical training (Harry groaned), and Global politics. Well at least he wouldn't humiliate himself in the last class.

He made his way for the Unferth section in Beowulf's Arena. Unferth was quite a bit smaller than the main arena and wasn't much to boast about. What was nice was the fact that all the walls were lined with cushions. Rourke and Jonathan, it appeared, had partnered up to duel each other. There was much more talking now than on the first day, and there was a causal air about the room. Harry wished he could feel casual. There was a dueling platform in the front of the room where the instructor, Harry assumed, was still preparing for his class. Harry checked his watch; it was time to start.

The instructor was very short and walked like a penguin. He had a very wrinkly face, wispy white hair, and dull eyes. Somehow Harry didn't think this instructor could handle too many duels. A young woman was helping him; she had her head in a trunk looking for something, apparently.

"Are you all in pairs?" the instructor asked with a paranoid voice. Immediately everyone began looking around and pairing up. Harry didn't make any sudden movements so no one really noticed him, which was just fine in his opinion. He was sure that the rumor had spread and he was now a humiliating legend.

"Fine," the instructor creaked on. He didn't introduce himself. He waited for his assistant to bring him his wand-- Harry ducked his head low. The assistant was Piper, her curly red hair pulled back in a pony tail.

"We will start to see what exactly you people don't know," he said grumpily. Harry chanced it and looked up at Piper. She was smirking at the instructor, clearly not taking him seriously.

"You have to take roll," she told him.

"Oh yes," he said, throwing his hand down. Piper handed him the roll sheet and he started to call off names very quickly, not stopping at any of them. "Good," he said once finished. "All right then," he added, waving his hands in a dismissive manner, "off you go. Duel already."

The class gazed around at each other, several shrugging their shoulders, then they started to duel. Harry was embarrassed for many of the students, half of whom couldn't get their aim right. Harry wondered how or why any of them wanted or were planning on being an Auror.

"Why don't you have a partner?" Harry heard Piper ask from his right side. He jumped, his face going flush because of it, and turned to her, his lips not functioning properly.

"Er," he said, now his face flushing redder. _The first word he said to her was 'er'?_

"Did you come in late?" she asked.

Harry nodded."Yeah," he said, nodding again. "Late." If he could've kicked himself without anyone seeing, he would have.

"Well we can be partners for the first round. Rowan likes to walk around and criticize before he actually teaches something. He likes to tell everyone what they're doing wrong."

Harry shook his head, then spoke because he had to have a reason to say no. "That's okay," he said, "I'm fairly good at dueling actually."

"Oh," she said, "as good as you are with fighting outside pubs?" she asked with a perfectly straight face.

If only he could have turned into a pile of ashes and then vaporize. "You saw that, did you?" he asked. 

"Yes," she said. "I have seen it three times actually. Every year some hotshot first year tries to break inside and break tradition, and every year they're beaten down by a third year at the top of his game. Usually someone puts the first year up to it."

"Oh no," Harry said, waving his hand casually, "I made a fool out of myself alone. No one put me up to it." It was comforting, strangely, knowing Harry wasn't the only idiot out there.

"I see," she said with a hint of a smile. "Shall we get this over with?" she asked, drawing out her wand. He nodded and got ready. He took a few paces back and took aim, but Piper had already fired her first spell and hit him right in the gut, sending him flying ten feet back.

When he looked up at her she was laughing. _If she wanted to play rough, why disappoint her?_ He slammed his fists on the ground then rose smoothly. She only seemed partially impressed by his action. Harry took aim again, but Piper shot another spell at him and Harry found himself winded on the floor. He shot at her from where he was. This time she flew across the room.

Rowan, the crusty old instructor, furrowed his grey eyebrows and came at Harry with his finger shaking at him. "You have bad form," his creaky voice sounded.

"Huh?" he asked as Piper fired another round. Harry ducked this time.

"Your form!" Rowan nagged, now trying to mold Harry's body into the right position. "Piper, quit it!" he yelled at her. She smiled at Harry. Rowan turned back to Harry and slapped his hand that held his wand. "Lower your wand!"

"Sorry," Harry said.

"Keep your back straight with your right foot forward. Well do it!"

Harry stifled a laugh and did as told.

"There. You have to aim with your entire body, you pipsqueak." He shook his head at Harry then walked away to yell at someone else. Harry turned his head to watch Rowan shake his finger at Jonathan for his shoes. 

"Patrificus Totalus!" Piper yelled. Instantly Harry's hands and legs locked to his sides and he fell backwards. He could hear Piper giggling as she sauntered over to survey him.

"_You_ defeated You-Know-Who?" she asked. She performed the counter curse on him then helped him up.

"Well the situation and environment was a bit different. Besides those spells we used weren't the kind of spells Voldemort and I used against each other. And I wasn't worried about hurting him," he added.

"I suppose that is a valid point. I was afraid I might hurt you. But your technique was good. You have a nice aim and you deliver power. Now why don't you partner up with that man over there," she said pointing. She started to walk away when Harry grabbed her hand.

"You're leaving?" she asked.

"Yes. I'm Rowan's aid and you're a student."

"Yeah but there are people still dueling and he hasn't stuck his finger in their faces yet."

"I have to go," she said.

_Ask her out to dinner, you lump. Go on, ask her out. Ask her out to dinner._ "Ask her out to dinner," Harry said stupidly, blushing again.

"Pardon?" she said.

Harry took in a breath, internally praying that his stomach would knock it off already, then looked back at her. "Would you like to go out to dinner with me?" he asked.

Piper's mouth twitched. "You're asking me out?" she asked. "_You're_ asking _me_ out?"

"Yeah," Harry said.

"What's my last name?" she asked, her hands folded behind her back.

Harry smirked. "O'Rielly," he said.

She shook her head.

"O'Donnell? O'Toole? O'Connors? O' something Irish?" he asked.

"No, none of those. It doesn't matter, though. I'm flattered by your offer, Mr. Potter, but I'm afraid I don't date first years. Nothing personal." She started to go again.

"You must have at some point. Come on, Piper. Go with me. Just once and then you can blow me off. Give a guy a chance, will you?" he asked, smiling at her.

"No," she said. "You're in a classroom, you know. It wouldn't hurt you to listen and learn." She winked at him, turned back around, and leaving Harry with mixed emotions which included confusion, she walked back to the front of the class to stand next to Rowan. Class was about to begin.  
  
  


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**Note:** You can expect chapter eight of Human Condition before the next chapter of AP. 


	3. Sex, Drugs, and Rock'n Roll

_Welcome to the third installment of Auror Progression. I know it's been months since I updated here, but I've been focusing most of my literary time on Human Condition. Please keep in mind that Auror Progression has always been described as a list of cookies which means they are very short and jump across time. This cookie is still from Harry's first year, but has leapt several months ahead from the last segment. It is also more mature than the last. Harry Potter is the perfect candidate for experimentation as a young, growing man. If you don't know what I mean when I say he's the perfect candidate for it, email me and I'll be happy to explain. You'll know what I mean by experimentation when you read the chapter. If, by the end of the chapter, you have questions about what will happen next or have noticed that there are some "holes" (some things that don't add up according to preset issues in previous chapters or in Human Condition) they will be addressed in this story and/or in Human Condition. Confusing? I apologize, but I must say it. If you should come to the end of the chapter and say, "Wait a second, this is inconsistent with" that's purposefully done. There, enough of me blabbing already._

(Rated** PG-15** for adult situations and alcohol use).

3. Sex, Drugs, and Rock'n Roll

"Hello, Harry," she said in a low whisper, licking chocolate sauce from her pinky finger. She was dressed scantily in black, her red curly hair fell about her shoulders and into her heavy lidded eyes that beckoned him closer.

Harry found himself walking toward her, but she was tiptoeing back toward her bedroom, grinning at the chase. She dipped her finger into a cup and sucked on it as she continued back. "You want a taste?" she asked him.

She backed into the wall and waited there for him. He approached her slowly, slipped his hands around her waste and leaned in for her lips… when there was an obnoxious loud ring in his ear.

Harry opened his eyes and instinctively bashed the alarm clock on his bed stand.

Jonathan, Harry's quirky roommate, was already dressed and examining his face in the mirror.

"What were you dreaming?" he asked with a half smile, looking at Harry's reflection.

Harry rubbed his face and eyes then yawned, but didn't answer.

"Piper again?" Jonathan continued.

Harry sat up and scratched his head then reached for his trousers across the room, which didn't come to him.

"Bullocks," he mumbled as he threw his blankets off himself and trudged to the other side of the room and put on his trousers.

"It's just a fluke," Jonathan assured as he started to collect his bag for class. "You'll have it all back in a few weeks."

"That's what you've been saying for months," Harry said as he pulled on a wrinkled t-shirt. "Somehow I don't think it will."

Harry's extraordinary powers, which according to Dumbledore no other known wizard possessed in such quantity, had disappeared and had never returned. Harry had been able to summon things to him and levitate items without the use of his wand, and he'd been physically stronger than anyone he knew, even though he didn't look it. Harry had been so strong, in fact, that he beat up James Steel on the first day of class. But not long after that, all of his power was gone. He was just an ordinary, mediocre, run-of-the-mill wizard. So far he didn't like it.

The past few months at Auror training proved difficult. Harry had to work harder, it seemed, than everyone else in his class just to get by. Sure, he could still do magic with his wand, but not like he could before. Harry didn't understand why exactly he couldn't perform, he just knew he was unable to do so.

But it didn't keep him from trying.

Harry would spend every waking moment practicing defensive spells, practical charms, and reading up on techniques. He frequently visited Dumbledore in hopes that he could assess and diagnose the real problem. But he couldn't.

Dumbledore had said that Harry's magical source had "dried up." Harry didn't buy the theory at that time, but as the months ticked by and he was still magically impotent, he started to believe it.

So just what was Harry's source of power? Dumbledore theorized that Harry received his power from Lily, who had essentially donated her power to him in order to save him and protect him from Voldemort. Now that Voldemort was gone, her power was no longer required. Since it was technically borrowed…it vanished.

But there had to be more to it than that, Harry would think as he could wave his wand like everyone else. There just had to be a way to get it all back.

He read his way through many volumes of magic books, had talked to the so-called experts, and had even consulted Hermione about it, but to no avail.

"Some things just leave us, Harry," Hermione would say casually as she devoured a new book to be published soon.

"What have you lost?" Harry asked her curiously.

Hermione looked up at him and shrugged. "I never had your abilities."

"Exactly. What's happened to me would be like you not being able to read. Can't you see the importance here?"

She nodded in an almost uncaring way and tried to look sympathetic. "Maybe your taking this the wrong way. This way you won't stand out so much. You won't receive as much attention like you have been. Don't you want to be like everyone else?" she asked.

Harry had pondered her question for weeks after she'd posed it. He even thought of it now as he pulled on his cloak and swung his book bag over his shoulder. _Did_ he want to be like everyone else?

Harry Disapparated to his first class that morning, Dueling Basics, and continued to consider his precarious situation. But his musings were cut drastically short by the entrance of Piper O'Flannery, the instructor's assistant.

Harry found that whenever Piper waltzed into the room his shirt seemed to shrink and would choke him. The temperature in the room rose and he began sweating. Rourke also pointed out that Harry's pupils would dilate. Harry denied it, though he wasn't sure how he could prove otherwise as he could never really see his own pupils expand... But these signs seemed to be obvious to everyone else in the class, even Piper.

Instuctor Rowan was no different this morning than in the past. Like every other day, Rowan began his class by clearing his throat, hacking out a cough, then would take roll. He hastily called out the names then tossed his clipboard down and began his lecture. Harry stepped forward into the crowd of his fellow students and watched Piper as she meddled in Rowan's equipment trunk. When she pulled out a few wands she caught Harry's eye and smirked. Harry smiled back at her; he started sweating.

"So partner up and practice!" Rowan ended grouchily.

Rourke, Jonathan, and Harry usually traded off as they practiced. Harry found the entire class to be completely pointless. The course could have been done in a week, but since Harry only had this class once a week for only an hour, he had to take it all year. He was bored by the content of the class, but not by Piper, which was the only reason his attendance for this class was perfect.

"Come on, lover boy," Rourke whispered as he pulled Harry to a corner of the room. "You don't have a chance with an older woman anyway."

Harry smirked to himself, yanking his eyes away from Piper. "I have a good a chance as anyone," Harry said to him. He withdrew his wand from his pocket and backed up a few paces as Rourke did the same.

"If that was true you would have her by now. Not a person in this room is clueless to how you feel about her. Every morning we're in here I have to pick up your eyes and push them back into your head. Besides, you've tried proving your affections to her and so far it's gotten you no where." Rourke also withdrew his wand and rose it. Rourke's form was perfect, which Rowan would constantly bring to everyone's attention. Rourke had grown a tad cocky with the idea, which always made Harry eager to knock him back down to his basic level.

"Can you read her mind?" Harry asked, getting himself into the dueling position. "Because unless you can, I don't want to hear your non-expert opinion on it."

Rourke whirled his wand without shouting an incantation and knocked Harry back ten feet onto his back.

"Don't need to read her mind. Last week you made a complete idiot of yourself trying to impress her," he said, rearranging himself for the next maneuver.

Harry sat up and readied himself for the next move, but Rourke knocked him back down again.

"That's it," Harry mumbled to himself. He shot at Rourke from the ground. Rourke was hit dead in the chest and now he too was on the floor. Harry allowed himself a chuckle and got back to his feet and made sure Rourke stayed on the floor.

But Harry's laughter and Rourke's loud groans attracted the instructor's attention.

"What is this?" he asked crankily, making his way over to the two.

Harry stuffed his fist in his mouth to shut himself up, and Rourke was finally allowed to stand.

"We're dueling," Rourke said matter-of-factly.

Piper also came to see what the excitement was about. Harry stopped laughing, tensed his muscles, and made himself look taller.

"Potter!" Rowan snapped, advancing on Harry. "You call that honorable dueling?"

Harry chanced a glance at Piper, then focused on Rowan again. "No sir," he said formally, "I call it winning."

"Tosh!" Rowan said. Harry found that he couldn't take Rowan's grumpy attitude too seriously---it was so darn funny. "We duel honorably as Aurors! Now let your opponent get to his feet before striking him again!"

"Why?" Harry asked. "The point of dueling is not to be honorable but to win, isn't it? It's not a game, it's a fight to the death."

Harry saw, in the corner of his eye, Piper fighting a smile. Harry decided to continue. "_I_ might be honorable, but the dark wizard may choose to play dirty. What good is an honorable Auror if he's dead?"

Rowan was ready to fire back but Piper, sensing her instructor's defeat, held him at bay and whispered something in his ear. Rowan pretended that he'd never talked to Harry and started criticizing another pair.

Piper smiled at Harry. "He's intimidated by you," she said. Harry loved her Irish accent.

Harry tried to think of something witty to say to her but instead he said, "Uh huh." He wanted to punch himself. "You, er," he started. He wanted to compliment her, but he couldn't think of anything astounding to say. "You look really pretty today." He said.

She smiled and chuckled a little. "Thank you," she replied.

Harry grinned back at her and tried to ignore the immature snickers coming from Rourke and Jonathan who stood behind him. Then the words he'd just uttered passed through his brain again. _She looks pretty today? What, so every other day she's a dog? Way to go Harry. Remember that thought you had a while ago about getting another idea? Memo, put it in a memo._ But Piper seemed content with the compliment.

Piper scratched her nose as she stood there, waiting for him to say something else. Harry racked his brain for another compliment but decided against it.

"So," Harry said. "This is you're last year hear?"

Piper nodded. "Thank goodness. I'm going to apply for the Irish Ministry."

"Yeah," Harry said. "You'll be great."

Piper blushed slightly but it wasn't that noticeable. "Thanks."

_Say something witty. Make her laugh! Ask her out to dinner! Ask her anything! Say anything other than about yourself!_

"Do you have…" Harry started. _Do it! Say it! Ask her about this weekend! Just do it Harry! Suck it up and be a man!_ "Do you have plans this weekend?"

Piper appeared flattered. She had been playing the cat and mouse game with Harry, her being the mouse, for the past few months. He hadn't asked her out since the day he first met her. But since that first class, she had grown accustomed and rather liked his attention and his humiliating attempts to impress her. Many of them worked.

It was only two weeks ago when Harry sent flowers to her flat. When she told one of her friends about the gesture, her friend giggled. Apparently Harry had done some embarrassing things to get hold of Piper's address. The only people who knew her address were her close girlfriends.

"What did you make him do?" Piper had asked.

"Oh, you know," her friend had said with a red face. "He really is quite cute, Piper. He has really nice arm muscles." She couldn't finish because she had thrown herself into a fit of giggles.

She refocused on Harry with a serious face.

"Plans?" Piper asked Harry.

"Yeah," he said. "You know, are you free at all?"

Piper stuck her tongue in her cheek. "What if I am?"

"Well," he said, getting more confidence from her encouraging grin, "maybe you and…I, could do… something."

Piper crossed her arms. "Together?" she asked coyly.

Harry felt his shirt shrink. "Yeah," he said.

Piper grinned. "There's going to be a little gathering Saturday night. Some friends of mine are throwing a party. Maybe we could go together."

Harry felt himself beaming at her. "That sounds great."

"I'll find you during the week to give you the details." She winked at him then attended to the rest of the class.

Harry whirled around to look at Rourke and Jonathan, and punched the air in excitement. "I," he said, pointing to himself, "have a date this Saturday. You two losers do not!"

And for the rest of the class, Harry performed some of his best magic in months.

Harry paced his room. His hands were going to his hair every fifteen seconds. When they weren't in his hair they were checking that his face was still smooth. He sprayed breath freshener in his mouth. Ten minutes left. He checked his hair.

Jonathan was reclining on his bed reading _Witches Gone Wild_. "You're going to burn the carpet if you keep pacing like that," he told Harry.

"Do I look okay to you?" Harry asked, for possibly the hundredth time, in regards to his wardrobe.

Jonathan didn't even look away from his magazine when he said, "From a completely heterosexual perspective, you look very handsome. Piper's a lucky woman."

Harry walked over to his mirror again and took a gander. His face was very smooth, his teeth were white and sparkling. He only worried about what he wore. He couldn't decide what would be appropriate. Rourke had laughed himself silly when he heard Harry stressing over what he wore. "Girls freak out over their attire!" he had said. Harry ordered him out of the room while he contemplated.

He had decided to play it safe. Keep it casual but look nice. He had faded blue jeans, a button down shirt, white of course, and he wore a mid-length leather coat. Simple.

"You should go to her flat, shouldn't you?" Jonathan asked. "Isn't it about time?"

Harry checked his watch. "Yeah," he said. He snatched his wand from his dresser and stuffed it inside his inner coat pocket.

Jonathan sat up. "You look very snazzy," he said.

"Could you be serious for a second please," Harry said. "If I look like a Backstreet Boy, please tell me."

"You don't. Have a nice time," Jonathan said with a wry wink. "Remember, she has a father who doesn't care who you are."

"Thanks big brother," Harry said.

"I hope you get some action," Jonathan added.

Harry didn't reply but immediately Disapparated and reappeared outside an ordinary door to an ordinary flat. He took several deep breaths. "Be calm," Harry told himself. "This is not your first date with a girl. You'll do fine." He rose his fist and knocked on the door.

Moments later Piper opened it.

She was dressed semi-casually, much like him. But she looked much better. She wore tight leather pants, which Harry couldn't take his eyes off of for several seconds, and a bright green sweater.

"Harry," she said happily, "you're right on time. Most guys show up half an hour late with no apology."

Harry wasn't sure if that was a "thank you" or "why can't you be like everyone else and give me more time to prep." He answered her with the classic smile and nod.

"Let me get my bag and we'll go," she said. "You can come in," she offered, opening her door to him.

"Thanks. You look great, by the way," he said.

She grinned. "Thanks. You look nice, too."

Pleasantries over, Harry and Piper left for the party. The actual party was being held in an unlikely location: an abandoned library building on the outskirts of Manchester. When they entered the run down building, Harry was sure he'd been expecting something quite different. The library was blaring with loud music coming from a live band in the center of the building. There were dull lit and barely working lights all around the walls, giving the library an eerie quality. But most stunning of all were the countless vats of alcohol on every table in the room and surrounding them were severely drunk people.

"First party?" Piper yelled over the music.

Harry turned to her with a gaping mouth. "Yes," he said.

Piper grinned, grabbed his hand, and tugged him through the crowd.

"Are most of these people from Training?" Harry asked her.

"Hell no! Most of those people are so stuck up they can't see sunlight!" she yelled.

She took him to one of the tables fit to be altars to Dionysus. She grabbed two shot glasses with a clear liquid inside. She downed one and gave one to Harry.

He wasn't about to tell her that he didn't drink; he'd worked so hard to get here with her. He took a deep breath, forced a smile, and downed the liquid like it was nothing. But it tasted like petrol. Harry coughed but heard Piper laughing.

"First vodka?" Piper asked.

Harry looked up at her with watery eyes. "That obvious, eh?" he asked.

She nodded then handed him another. "Live a little, Harry. No worries!" she yelled. She too took another shot glass and drank it as quickly as the first.

Harry looked down into the clear substance, pondering it. "No worries," he told himself. Under Piper's encouraging eye, Harry put the glass to his lips, and thrust his head up like a professional.

Twenty minutes and seven shot glasses later, Harry found himself sitting in an armchair and laughing uncontrollably. A large group of people Harry had never seen in his life were laughing with him. Piper was tossing her hair around as she sat in his lap, helping herself to a few more drinks.

The group had been told that Piper's guest was none other than the world famous Harry Potter, and they had insisted that he tell them a few details about his conquering of Lord Voldemort. But it sounded much funnier after half a bottle of alcohol.

"And ifya belive it," he continued, his words slurring into one another, waving his wand around playfully as the entire group was in stitches, "he saysta me, 'Potter…hesays, youre nuffin tome butamisbehain teenager." The group roared with laughter and Harry joined them, continuing to wave his wand. "Then I," he said, whirling around his wand but dropped it.

Piper snuggled closer to him and gave him another drink, which he downed quickly. She encircled his neck and head and held it to her chest, kissing the top of his head as she laughed.

The night progressed with more alcohol, story telling which was undistinguishable from animal slurs, and eventually a painful trip to the loo.

Harry found the toilet just in the nick of time. He blundered toward it, hitting his head on pipes and doors, then collapsed in front of it. He pulled his head to the bowl just as a painful pressure pushed against his chest. He wanted to go against the pressure, but at the same time he wished to relieve it. Finally his reflexes took control and he wretched a smelly stench into the bowl.

"Oh God," he groaned as he lay his head on the bowl. His face was wet with sweat and his stomach was grumbling angrily.

Someone else came into the room. He risked looking up but his vision was blurred and the figure wasn't walking as much as she was swimming toward him.

"Harry!" she said drunkenly, sliding beside him. He thought it sounded like Piper, but he wouldn't bet on it. "I thought this was your first time," she said to him.

Harry squint at her, wishing his eyes would focus. Right now there appeared to be two Pipers and they kept swimming around him. Piper looked into the toilet bowl then flushed it. Harry stared at his sick whirling around then disappearing down the hole. And before he knew it he blacked out.

There was a deep throbbing pain in his neck, the back of his head, the front of his head, and even in his sinuses. Harry clapped his hands to his head and groaned. Without opening his eyes Harry knew it was day. His eyelids were orange-brown because the sun was pouring into the room. His head was so sore he didn't even want to open his eyes.

"I'm never drinking again," he promised himself as he lay in agony. He turned over on his stomach and buried his head in a pillow to stay away from the light. Then it hit him. How did he get back?

Harry opened his eyes and flipped to his back. This wasn't his room. Panic filling his veins, he looked around. This was _definitely_ not his room. He was sleeping in a queen sized bed wearing nothing but his boxer shorts.

The door to the room opened and Piper came in.

"Oh God," Harry said, clapping his hands to his face.

"Good morning," she said to him as she sat next to him. "You blacked out last night, remember?"

Harry tried to think. He remembered the first five shots but after that things got a little hazy. "No," he groaned in response.

"Yeah, you did," she said with a twinge of laughter. "I'm sorry. I should've gone easier on you, knowing it was your first party. What you're having right now is your first hangover."

Harry peered at her through his hands. "I passed out. So we didn't…?"

Piper grinned but shook her head. "No. We didn't. I had to have help getting you here. I thought it would be less humiliating to bring you back here than take you to your dorm room where everyone would see you passed out. You slept like a baby all night, so nothing happened."

Harry was relieved.

"Here," Piper said, handing him a glass of steaming pink liquid.

Harry squint at the glass.

"It'll take care of that hangover in a second. You want that don't you?"

Harry nodded and took the glass. He gulped it down in a matter of seconds and could feel, to his relief, the pain ebbing away. He sighed and fell back into the bed, closing his eyes. "What time is it?" he asked her.

"Ten."

"Ten!" he said, sitting up again. "Bullocks. I have to go," he said, looking around for his clothes.

"They're being washed," Piper said. "They smelled. You had an encounter with the porcelain god. They should be done any minute now, but you should just rest for the time being. Are you hungry?" she asked.

"I threw up? In--in front of you?" he asked.

Piper nodded.

"What else did I do?" he asked, fearing the answers.

"You told everyone about your conquest of He-who-must-not-be-named, sort of. We couldn't understand the last half of it because your speech was slurred. Oh, then there was the dancing."

"What?" Harry said, his face turning red. "Dancing? I don't dance. At all."

Piper grinned. "You danced with me. You were pretty good, actually. It was nothing fancy just the regular drunken dancing. But nothing other than that. You were terribly funny, though. Everyone loved you."

Harry couldn't hear anymore. He started to throw the covers off himself when he remembered he was in his underwear.

"Who took off my clothes?" he asked.

"I did," she said, as if it were nothing. "You've been spending a lot of time at the gym," she added with a wry smile.

Harry gave an embarrassed laugh and felt his face burning.

"You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Harry," she said, winking at him. "You have great genes."

"I want my stuff back," Harry said, ignoring her last comment. "I'll take it dirty, I don't care."

"Just relax will you," Piper said, pushing him back on the bed. "You're so tense all the time. Can't you just have fun every once in a while?" She crawled on the bed and sat on top of him, one leg on each side.

"Oh yeah," Harry said, trying to sound at ease with her position. "It's just right now it's kind of strange. I'm not really one to do that kind of thing."

Piper nodded in understanding then leaned close to him, her face inches from his. Harry felt his heart thumping madly. He could smell her breath--she'd used a spearmint mouthwash this morning.

"Relax, Harry," Piper whispered. "We've already kissed anyway."

Harry gave her an uncomfortable smile. "Really?" he asked shakily.

"Yes," she said. She gripped his neck in her hands then kissed him, which he quickly returned.

Harry's clothes arrived at 10:30, clean and pressed. They sat on a table for three hours, however. Piper laughed when she saw that they'd been delivered already. But she didn't get out of bed. She curled her arms around Harry and ducked her head under his chin.

"So…" Harry started. He didn't exactly have a good excuse to be nervous anymore, but he didn't want to sit there and have nothing to say to her.

"Mmmm," she said with a smile. "You're so warm and strong," she mumbled into his ear.

Harry couldn't help but smile. He took her hand in his and stretched her arm across his chest. He certainly didn't see himself here months ago when he was just trying to get her attention. Yet here he was, in her bed with her.

"So where do we go from here?" Harry asked her.

"I don't know," she said. "Tell me about yourself."

Harry laughed. "What do you want to know?"

Piper propped herself up and looked into his eyes. "What do you like to do in your free time?" she began.

Harry rolled over to his side so he could look into her face. "I haven't really had any lately. But I suppose I would see my friends."

Piper twist her fingers in his hair playfully. "From here or Hogwarts?"

"Hogwarts mostly. My friend Ron wanted to be an Auror too but he hasn't passed the entrance exam yet. And Hermione is starting small at Sparks Publishing. She's a bit of a book worm."

Piper smiled and kissed him again. "Is she pretty?" she asked.

"Uh," Harry said. He remembered suddenly what Hermione had told him in his fifth year about being tactless. "Well I've known her since I was eleven. I don't really think of her that way," he replied, hoping that was the kind of answer Piper wanted.

"I'm not the jealous type, Harry," she said with a smile. "You can tell me if you think she's pretty. I mean you're here with me not with Hermione."

Harry laughed and he wasn't sure why. But Piper laughed with him and embraced him for another kiss. Harry couldn't remember a time when he'd smiled this much or been as happy as he was with her. He was so wrapped up in her, literally and figuratively, that he didn't notice a few candles ignite on their own, or the alarm clock that hovered a few feet above the night stand.


	4. Raindrops

_Raindrops keep fallin' on my head  
But that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turnin' red  
Cryin's not for me  
'Cause I'm never gonna stop the rain by complainin'  
Because I'm free  
Nothin's worryin' me_

4. Raindrops (naturally)

Harry Potter was a very happy young man.

It seemed to be the first and only time that things were just… _right_. Harry was sure something evil was at work, that some hidden dark power ready to devour the world was behind this sudden and truly wonderful change in his life. There had to be something evil. Didn't there?

Though Harry spent hours researching in such a way Hermione might cry from the pride, Harry could find nothing sinister at work. At first it flabbergasted him. He even told people that he was flabbergasted. He used the word 'flabbergasted', for crying out loud. Something was very different.

Actually a lot was different. _Better_ different, to be a little more precise. His lessons and classes were going swimmingly. No, scratch that, they were much better than that. His lessons were _extraordinary_. One day he had to stop himself from skipping to class he was so excited to be going.

But there was more. Not only did he thoroughly enjoy going to classes, he was the best in the class. This was how it should have been since day one, certainly, but now it finally came to be. His instructors simply gushed when he would raise a hand or volunteer. Oh how _wonderful_ that Harry Potter was. Getting every question right, nailing every spell the first time around, he even knew the chemical properties of those potions! Could life get better?

Why yes. At the end of each day Harry would spend time with Piper, his girlfriend. His _girlfriend_. He blushed every time he thought of that or heard himself say it. "Yes, this is Piper, my girlfriend." It took a few weeks to adjust but it finally became comfortable to him. And because he had a girlfriend that meant that he, Harry Potter, was a boyfriend. Also weird to think about.

At the end of most days, Harry would pop over to Piper's flat and just be with her. They were at that point in their relationship where they didn't have to go anywhere, though they some times did, to have a good time. In fact it was probably better that they didn't go out much.

Because Harry had little to compare to, he thought it perfectly normal to have an extremely physical relationship with a young woman. He had no complaints and Piper didn't seem to mind. Every other night Harry would stay so late at her flat that he didn't even bother returning to his own room until the next morning. He would roll over on his back, sigh with a smile and drift off into sleep. On occasion Piper would nudge him awake accidentally by snuggling up to him. He found it didn't bother him too much.

Today Harry had an exam and though he'd spent the entire night with Piper, he felt ready for it. What could possibly go wrong?

Nothing. Nothing went wrong. Harry thought for sure the ghost of Voldemort or someone evil with an equally evil, perhaps even corny name, would burst through the window and curse vengeance of some kind on Harry. He was waiting for it to happen. As he put his quill to his parchment he was certain something, _anything_ horrible would befall him.

"That's silly," Piper said as she swung by to pick him up after class. "The ghost of You-know-who?"

Harry's arm naturally crept around her middle as he walked her down the hall and he felt himself grinning. "Well," he said, looking down at her, "he wasn't exactly keen on dying. He'd love to haunt me."

"Maybe," Piper giggled.

Harry toyed with a few strands of her curly hair as he gazed into her green eyes.

"What?" she asked him with a devious smile.

Harry grinned back at her and swung his arm around her shoulders as he escorted her out of the building. "I can't look at you, now?" he asked with an obvious smirk.

Piper held her head high, making an effort to toss back her hair. "Oh," she said in mock surprise, "no, please."

Harry bit his lip.

The only thing that needed to be done at this point was the introductions. Harry had met a few of Piper's friends but she had yet to meet Ron or Hermione. Rourke and Jonathan had insisted on meeting the woman who was "keeping Harry busy these nights" and therefore distracting him from training and in fact just about everything. Harry wasn't given much of a choice. They liked her well enough. What they really loved about her was the opportunity she gave them to mock Harry. Usually they'd offer crude sexual jokes or slip in sexual suggestions. The writer cannot go into more detail without offending her readers.

But Harry still had that tiny problem of introducing her to Ron and Hermione. He wasn't sure how they would react to Piper. Piper wasn't at all bookish—she relied on gut-instinct rather than the words of authors and strange magical theories. Piper was also unusually confident and might put Ron off, as well as Hermione.

He'd have to introduce them eventually. Just not now. He could go a few more weeks without mentioning Piper to Ron and Hermione. What harm could come from it?

Piper opened the door to her flat and held it open for Harry, who stepped inside like it was his own. Piper shut the door and locked it, grinning at Harry.

He dropped his book bag in a corner and watched her.

Piper was beautiful. She had everything a Victoria's Secret model might have, and fire-red hair to boot. Her hair was naturally curly, but not out of control or frizzy. She had a deep laugh, and a eye-popping smile.

"So," she said as she slowly unbuttoned her shirt, "what should we do?"

Harry could feel his body heat up, preparing itself for what was to come.

"We could study," he suggested, smirking.

Piper raised an eyebrow and walked toward him.

"I like that idea," she said.

Harry thought the foreplay needed some work, at least the vocal part of it. Luckily it never lasted long.

Piper closed the distance between them. She had her hands in his hair before he could really register it. She kissed him, her tongue deep inside his mouth, exploring him, as she ripped off his shirt.

Piper pulled back and stared into his eyes. She dropped her gaze to his lips, where her eyes lingered for a time, then they fell further south.

"Studying it is," Piper said, looking back up at him. She wrapped her arms around his bare back and pushed him down on the bed, falling on top of him.

Harry and Piper weren't exactly conversationalists or fellow academics. When Harry would suggest, "let's go to the library," it didn't mean "let's study." One time Harry had meant to go study, but she had come along. As he was searching for the right book, Piper stroked his back and kissed his neck. Eventually she'd worked her way in front of him, her back on the bookshelf and her chest to his. Harry had forgotten what book he'd been looking for, even that he was in a library.

Something about Piper intrigued Harry. She was mysterious somehow, even though he'd seen everything she had. She always wanted to be with him and he found he always wanted to be with her, even when he was supposed to be doing other things.

He was shocked and amazed that he wasn't failing all his courses, and in fact acing them, because he spent so much time with Piper doing "stuff."

Just last week the two had intended to go to a lecture given by a retired Auror, but never made it out of Piper's flat, or even into clothes. Harry had completely lost track of time and only realized they'd missed the lecture when he noticed it was dark outside. Piper smiled up at him from the bed and laughed.

She had a deep laugh that seemed to echo within him. She always laughed like that when he kissed her neck or tickled her in the morning. He loved it when she laughed. He loved it when she smiled. He loved it when she said his name in ecstasy, or when she just said his name in passing. He loved seeing her, being with her, sleeping beside her, making love to her. He loved the way they looked together, hand in hand. He liked how their bodies fit together perfectly.

Breathing hard, Harry rolled off of her to his side of the bed. Piper was smiling and would soon turn to kiss him and beg him for more. Harry turned on his side so he could watch her face and gaze into those eyes.

Half her face was covered by the pillow, but the exposed half smiled at him, eyes hooded in pleasure. She reached out a hand to his cheek and grinned. Harry felt his chest swell as he smiled back.

He'd never felt this way before, this total physical warmth and completeness. Whenever he held her in his eyes or his arms, he felt complete, like he'd always been broken and Piper was his other half. When he made love to her all he wanted was for her to be happy, for her to get what she wanted from him. And he found he didn't mind that thought. He didn't mind giving himself to her if she would take it.

"Harry," she said, touching his lips with her index finger.

"Hmm?" he asked.

"Tell me what you're thinking," she said.

Harry took a deep breath and grinned. "I'm thinking," he started, then moved closer to her so he could touch her, "that I could do better."

Piper failed at hiding a grin. "Practice makes perfect," she said.

Harry swung one leg over her and entwined his fingers in hers. He looked down at her face, her red hair a nimbus, and kissed her lips as gently as he could. "You're beautiful," he whispered, leaning his forehead on hers.

She laughed her deep laugh and caught his lips in hers. "I'm glad you think so," she whispered.

Perhaps it was a Y-chromosome thing, or perhaps it was just a Harry Potter thing, but he kept count of how many times they'd shagged. They'd been dating for roughly a month and slept together nearly every night of that month, actually consummating their relationship 37 times, plus long snogging sessions which Harry didn't keep a mental record of.

Last night alone they'd done it three times. Exhausting yes, regrettable no.

Harry rolled over to his side and smiled as he felt the sun on his face. He was so glad it was Saturday. He enjoyed learning new things and all, but sometimes it was overwhelming. Piper had a way of melting his cares away.

Piper yawned then snuggled into Harry's back, her nose in his neck. "Good morning," she said softly, kissing him.

"Morning," he replied.

She sat up and summoned Harry's shirt to her, then put it on and got out of bed. Harry wasn't sure what it was about her wearing his shirt that was so sexy. It just seemed to look better on her than it ever did on him.

_Or it's because she's got gorgeous legs and you can see every inch of them when she's wearing it._ Yeah, that could be it.

"How about breakfast?" she asked him as she went to brush her hair.

Breakfast… wait. He was forgetting something important and it had something to do with breakfast. Think, Harry. Breakfast. Saturday. Something to do with companionship and conversations…. _Oh_.

"Shit," Harry exclaimed, jumping out of bed and scrambling for his trousers.

"What?" Piper asked.

"Ron and Hermione."

"Friends of yours?" Piper asked.

"Yeah," Harry said, as he searched high and low for his trousers. "I'm going to need my shirt back."

"No," she said, smiling ruefully.

"Piper, I'm serious," he said, as he fell to the ground trying to get dressed.

She laughed. "Well you're going to have to take it from me."

"I can't!" Harry replied. "I don't have time for this! I promised I'd meet them for breakfast at nine. It's-" he examined his watch, "ten thirty!"

"Well you're already late, what's another half an hour?" she asked.

"Fine," Harry said. He got his wand and conjured another shirt. He buttoned it up as quickly as he could, but as always when you're in a hurry, fingers enlarge, vision blurs, and the mind never works properly—only when you need it. He told himself to clam down, that Ron and Hermione would understand. There was probably some unwritten rule about it being okay to ditch your two best pals who've always been there for you, fighting beside you, willing to die with and for you, if you're going to get shagged. It was a no-brainer.

Harry finally got his fingers on the buttons (telling himself it would've been easier to just conjure a t-shirt, _idiot_) and did up his shirt. He stumbled into his shoes, all the while Piper was laughing at him, zipped up his trousers, and Disapparated out of Piper's flat back to his room.

There were two beds in his room—his and Jonathan's, his flip-flop wearing roommate. Currently Ron and Hermione were sitting on Harry's bed. Hermione had her arms and legs crossed and a smoldering face, with glaring eyes, probably capable of shooting laser beams into Harry's stomach and sucking life out of him.

Ron also looked put-upon. When he saw Harry he examined his watch and made a cluck sound with his tongue. He'd obviously been spending too much time with Hermione lately.

"Library," Harry said, scratching the back of his head. "I was studying last night. I have a killer exam on Monday on Theory of Charms. Charm Theory. I, uh, feel asleep in a private reading room. It was really quiet. Super quiet. Kinda warm, too. I'd eaten this huge dinner. Potatoes and beef of some kind. Went up to study and I fell asleep…which I already said. Just woke up—just now. I, uh, remembered that I said we should have breakfast together, the three of us, just now. S-So, here I am. Sorry." He looked down at them, feeling guilty about being late and now about lying to them.

Hermione pursed her lips and looked down at her shoe. Ron squint at Harry and stood up, pointing at Harry's neck. "Were there leaches in that library?" he asked.

Hermione snapped her head up, stood beside Ron, and re-crossed her arms.

"Huh?" Harry asked, blushing. He clapped his hand to his neck and walked over to his mirror to examine it. _Bugger_.

"Leaches? No, not a leach, actually. I, uh, er…burned myself. Yeah, burned myself. Actually I didn't burn myself, someone else did, with their wand. We were dueling, Rourke and me, yesterday, before I went to the library that is, and he hit me with this burning hex. But he didn't do it right, so it didn't really hurt, so I forgot about it until now. Thanks mate," he said to Ron, not looking at him. Harry went to his armoire and got out a turtle neck to cover it up. Besides, though magic was a wonderful thing, it never broke one of the fundamental physical laws of the universe: energy is neither created nor destroyed. So the conjured shirt would vanish eventually. Better to change now.

Hermione still looked like the Ice Queen as Harry put on a new shirt.

Ron, however, was smirking at him.

"Library eh?" Ron asked. He was smiling now. "So, where are your books?"

_Shit_. "Books?" Harry asked, blushing again.

Hermione snorted. "Yeah, you know those paper things, bound together, with information in them. If you were studying, where are your books?"

Harry swallowed. "Oh. I uh, left them there. I was in such a hurry to get over here to explain to you, that I forgot!" he said and hit his forehead. "Oops."

Ron turned to Hermione. "I always forget my books when I fall asleep at the library, do you Hermione?" he asked.

Hermione stared daggers at Harry, not finding the situation as funny as Ron obviously did. Harry noticed that she was dressed nicely, ready for a good day, starting with a nice morning with her friends. Her hair was pulled back out of her face, she wore a silver necklace, and nice robes of blue. Harry hated himself for forgetting.

"I'm really sorry," Harry said.

"For forgetting or for lying to us?" Hermione asked.

Harry looked down at the ground and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Both," he mumbled.

"Where were you really?" Hermione asked.

Harry hesitated. Well, they needed to know about Piper anyway, so why not just tell them now. Harry opened his mouth to speak when someone knocked at the door. Jonathan wouldn't knock on his own door, so Harry figured it was his other friend, Rourke. Harry went to it and opened it. But it wasn't Rourke.

Piper leaned on the doorway. She was wearing tight blue jeans and a black halter-top. She appeared to be a little chilled. She smiled when she saw him and picked up his book bag to hand it to him. "You left this," she sang, swinging it in front of him.

Hermione came over to the door to see who had called.

"Who are you?" she asked abruptly.

Piper looked her up and down, then looked back at Harry and smiled. "Hermione?"

Harry nodded subtly.

"Piper," Piper told her, then walked inside with Harry's book bag and dropped it on his bed. "It's a pleasure to meet you," she said to Hermione. "Harry's told me nothing about you."

If it was humanly possible for smoke to come out of ears, Hermione would set off fire alarms. She glared at Piper, arms still crossed, looking like she wanted to hex Piper into the next century.

"Uh," Harry said, coming forward. "I—this is Piper. Like she said," he added lamely. "This is Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, my friends. We were just leaving."

"We were just leaving an hour and a half ago, Harry," Hermione said nastily, still staring at Piper, who was staring back.

Ron walked over to Piper to extend his hand. "Nice to meet you," he said, looking at her chest.

"And you," Piper said. "So, how long have you two known Harry?" she asked.

"Over seven years," Hermione answered.

Piper smiled and nodded her head. "Long time then."

"You could say that," said Hermione.

"You'd think he'd tell you when he had a girlfriend."

"Only if it was important."

"OKAY!" Harry said, clapping his hands and trying to laugh. "And here I thought this would be an awkward moment!"

Piper broke eye contact with Hermione and walked over to Harry. "I'll see you later then, right?"

Harry looked down at her then glanced at Hermione, who did actually appear to be smoking from the ears, then back down at Piper. "Sure," he mumbled.

"Great," Piper said and grinned. She clasped his face between her hands and kissed him as deeply as she ever had, worrying Harry that things would start to…lift off, then she moved her hands down his back. She unlocked her lips and smiled at him, winking her left eye. "I'm missing you already." She dropped her right hand to his butt and squeezed, then left, giving Hermione a wave as she went through the door.

Harry wiped his mouth and looked at Ron and Hermione's feet. Silence prevailed for a few minutes. Finally Ron, doing what he does best, managed to break it.

"I like her," he said.

Harry looked up at him and managed a feeble smile. He ventured a careful glance at Hermione, whose face was indifferent but firm.

"Sorry," he muttered. "She can be a little intense." He cleared his throat and stood there, feeling self-conscious and stupid. "I wanted to tell you about her in person, of course. She's not really letter worthy."

"Is she the leach?" Hermione asked.

"Huh?"

"The love bite on your neck," Hermione said, pointing. "Is she the one who did it?"

Harry's face turned scarlet. "Uh," he said, clearing his throat, "yeah." He shuffled his feet and noticed Ron, who stood behind Hermione with his hand to his mouth, presumably to keep from laughing at Harry's predicament.

"So you weren't at the library yesterday, were you?" Hermione asked.

"Not really."

"'Not really,' or no you weren't?"

"I wasn't."

"Were you with her last night?"

"Sort of. I mean yes, I was."

"So she really is your girlfriend?"  
"You could say that, yes."

"For how long?"

"About a month or so. A month-ish. A month. Four weeks."

"Any time you want to jump in here Ron, you go right ahead," Hermione said.

"Oh," Ron said, shaking his head. "You're doing great, Herm."

"So you were going to tell us, when-after you got married?" Hermione asked.

"M-Married? Whoa. Hermione, I was going to tell you today. I just lost track of time last night."

"While you were shagging her senseless?" Hermione asked viciously.

All right, now that was too far. Harry took a deep breath and crossed his own arms. "I don't appreciate your tone," he said.

"I don't care. You said, you _promised_ even, that you'd be here at nine so we could, the three of us, go out for breakfast. And you were late! You were staying with her!" Hermione yelled. "You completely forgot about us! How do you think that makes us feel?"

"I said I was sorry! What else do you want me to do?" Harry asked.

"Well try not to lie to us, for a start! You can't even trust us with a simple fact like you're dating someone, that you have to lie and make _us_ look stupid to that woman you're seeing?"

"I'm sorry, all right!" Harry yelled.

"You are not sorry," Hermione growled. "You would've kept lying to us if you thought you could get away with it."

"That's ridiculous!"

Ron cleared his throat. "Should we go to breakfast now?" he asked.

"I'm not hungry," Hermione said, looking at Harry. "Maybe you could have breakfast and sex with that tramp!" Hermione yelled at Harry.

"Piss off, Hermione!" Harry yelled.

Hermione turned on her heal, marched to the door, opened it, looked back at Ron and said, "Coming?"

Ron looked from her to Harry, then back again. "No thanks," he said.

Hermione scowled at the both of them and slammed the door as she left.

Harry, fuming, stared at the door. He heard his heard pound violently in his ears. His face was hot, his muscles tense, his eyes wide.

Ron scratched his nose. "Well," he said, "I thought that went rather well."


End file.
